


Silence

by 1780AWintersBall



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Everyone's gone, Everything goes wrong within the first few minutes, F/M, Hamilton is oblivious, Hamilton's extremely paranoid, John is long dead, Lee dies quickly, M/M, POOF - Freeform, Stuff in the air, WELCOME TO THE END-ALL-BE-ALL, very very wrong
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-05
Updated: 2017-12-04
Packaged: 2019-02-10 19:28:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12918687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1780AWintersBall/pseuds/1780AWintersBall
Summary: Alexander Hamilton is completely oblivious to the world outside his perfect little office, and when he finally is forced out due to a power outage, he realises everything's completely gone to the dogs.





	Silence

Alexander Hamilton had never been the type of man to notice things when he was immersed in his work. He’d always been criticised for it, but he’d made no change of habits to fix his ignorance of the world around him.

  His office in the White House (when he wasn’t in the Treasury Department building), about a four hour’s drive from his home in New York, wasn’t the biggest room, but it was how Hamilton liked it. It had four wonderful, mahogany walls, one door, with two internal locks and a keyhole door knob (always locked), two desks, six metal filing cabinets, side by side and locked with a key for each drawer, and zero windows. It was perfect for all the things Hamilton needed, and, in case anyone asked, it was sufficiently lit with eight candle sconces (in case the power went out), each with new candles, two fluorescent tube lights in the ceiling, and two desk lamps, one for each desk. As a side note, people kept calling Hamilton paranoid, but he’d like to see how others feel when the lights go out and their hard work goes missing.

  Hamilton had gotten into the habit of staying in Washington D.C for the week, then going back home for the weekends, only to drive back to Washington D.C again. It was the easiest way to deal with the four-hour drive, he thought, and Eliza had simply said that he was not to forget about his family whilst away. Because of this fitting schedule, he’d lock himself into either one of his offices, which were both basically the same in looks and comfortability, and work away the week, impressing President George Washington every single time with the amount of work he got done within a year. He always loved to pride himself that Washington was impressed with him, and his favourite bragging rights that he’d use when meeting someone new at work was, “Did you know, I made Washington smile just yesterday because I finished six new projects!”

  The fact that no one ever saw Hamilton besides in cabinet meetings and rushing to and from offices in emergencies was beside the point, and Hamilton never really cared about what anyone except his boss thought of him anyways. The only real importance was that he got his work done, he made himself irrevocably useful, and that he get his name written down in history for all to remember him, because he made himself known.

  So thus, one day, right as the clock that he’d muted in his White House office silently chimed twelve o’clock in the afternoon, Hamilton couldn’t possibly have been able to tell what was going on outside his door, within the rest of the huge, four-floored building. He was completely oblivious to the change that occurred, and it was only when the power went out at about two o’clock pm, and his computer shut down due to solely working off of emergency power, that he finally was lifted out of his trance.

  Annoyed, Hamilton tried holding the power button. When that didn’t work, he cussed because he hadn’t been able to save his work. He then looked around and noticed that he was in almost complete darkness, which would have been completely pitch black, had it not been for the small emergency light attached to his clock. He silently thanked his clock, then turned back to his computer desk.

  Putting one hand on the desktop, he dug into one of his pockets with the other, finding his keys within a matter of seconds. Once his keys were in his hand, he went to his second filing cabinet from the door, leaned down to the second-to-bottom drawer, and unlocked it, pulling it open. Inside were multiple boxes of matches, making the drawer only half full, all practically new and never used. He took out a box of matches, carefully opened it, and quickly struck a match on the side of the box. The match was so dry that it lit on the first try with little struggle, and Hamilton hurried to light all the candles in his small working space before the match flame reached his fingertips.

  He proceeded to blow out the match when all the candles were bright and shining, and gave himself a small, satisfied snort at his quick achievement. It was always satisfying to light never-before-lit candles.

  After that, since he could then see properly, he made his way over to the other desk, which held his hand-written papers. This desk needed a lot of tidying, but Hamilton was not about to do the cleaning then, and so the desk would go uncleaned for that day.

  In the desk, there was a special drawer, which the other desk did not have. Hamilton loved this drawer, because it could hold so much more than most desk drawers. It wasn't as spacious as the filing cabinet drawers, no holding space if his could ever match those, but it came pretty close, and he was very pleased with it.

  Hamilton quickly opened this very pleasant drawer, and pulled out a halogen/LED dual-light flashlight, which he’d picked up from a friend in the police force. It was about a good two point two five decimeters, and very sturdy. With his flashlight in hand, he made his way over to his door, then fiddled with the keycode for both internal locks. Knowing the passwords by heart after a couple years of working with them, he opened both internal locks easily, stuck in his key for the door knob keyhole, and unlocked his door.

  Before he stepped outside his door, he held up his flashlight much like a search-and-rescue person would; his whole hand curled tightly around the tube of the flashlight, held up near his left ear with his left hand, light facing outwards into the still-closed door. He knew that the lights were out, and he wanted to be able to see everything in front of him, so he didn’t trip.

  Finally, he opened his door, letting it swing all the way. His flashlight lit up the wall on the other side of the hallway, making a solid circle of light glow. He didn’t think there was any danger, why would there be? It was just a power outage, and there was nothing wrong with a simple power outage.

  But it wasn’t truthfully that simple.

  He suddenly realised that something was amiss. He couldn’t honestly pinpoint why it wasn’t just a power outage, but he could feel it, something was wrong. There were odd, minute particulate floating through the air, making the light from the flashlight that much more foggy and swirling. The white floor, blue walls and light green ceiling (when Hamilton finally looked up), had taken on a darker hue, every colour deeper. It made the hallway look like it had been submerged in dirty water, then splashed with ink, and Hamilton suddenly had an enormous gut feeling not to walk outside his perfect little office.

  Hamilton looked back into his office, and realised something. Inside the office, the air was still untouched, as though the particulate and dust refused to enter the small room. It was still warm, whereas when Hamilton tentatively reached out into the hallway, it was as though winter had attacked the long stretch of hall, minus the snow. He made the connection in his mind that the complete difference between these areas was because of the fire from the candles. Now, whether the fire affected the particulate because it had a mind of its own, Hamilton would rather not think about. Either way, he felt somehow assured that his office would be completely normal and livable as long as there were lit candles.

  The problem that now presented itself to Hamilton was that he didn’t really have a way of taking his candles around the building. The fact that his actual candles that stood their ground on Hamilton’s office walls were quickly melting into their rather solid sconces, didn’t really help. Sure, he could grab his matches and strike them every three seconds, instead of attempting to rip out the candles from their holders, but Hamilton had a horrible feeling that whatever made the building look wet, and caused the particulate to float around, was bound to notice the sound the match made every time it was struck. Besides that, Hamilton would be going through a lot of matches for one trip, and he was pretty sure that, although he had a lot of matches, he’d need his matches for more than just this trip, and using them willy nilly was going to make him run out.

  So instead, he closed his door gently, wanting to be as quiet as possible now, and went over to his fifth filing cabinet. He unlocked the middle drawer (third from the bottom and top) and pulled it open, wincing at the squeal it let out, having not been opened for quite a while.

  Inside the drawer was a broken fan (which Hamilton had attempted to fix), a swiss army knife, two sets of mini screw drivers, four pairs of broken glasses, and a full plague doctor uniform, mask and all. Hamilton had bought different parts of the plague doctor uniform from multiple people, including his good friend Lafayette, who said he just wanted the mask out of the house, as it brought misfortune. Hamilton, of course, didn’t really believe in the superstition that Lafayette had wholeheartedly dumped onto him, so he’d bought it from him, in case the plague ever came back.

  Right then, Hamilton would call whatever was in the hallways, floating around and messing up the building, a plague. He took a modicum of satisfaction from the fact that he had known what he was doing when he bought the uniform and kept it handy.

  He took out the white plague mask, black hat, multi-coloured herbs (which were mostly lavender), oak stick, black gown, black gloves and dark brown boots, and set them aside, ready to be put on. He wasn’t sure he wanted to put on the entire outfit (just holding all of it was heavy), but he was very certain he’d put on at least the mask, stuffed with herbs, to make sure he didn’t breathe in any particulate.

  He then took out the swiss army knife, which had been a lucky heirloom that his mother had given him before she died, and shuffled around the remaining items in the drawer until they were tidy again. One pair of broken glasses cut Hamilton’s thumb, and he gasped, pulling back out of the drawer. It was never fun to be cut on the glass of a pair of glasses you used to trust wholeheartedly. He turned away from his activity, closing the drawer again, thinking that the glasses could stay messy, for all he cared, and stuffed the herbs into the mask with annoyance.

  Finally, Hamilton was ready, and he slipped on the plague mask, hat, and gloves, picked up his swiss army knife and put it into the right pocket of his emerald green suit. Eliza, a couple of years back, had bought the suit for him for their anniversary, after he had given her a beautiful blue gown. They’d both immediately fallen in love with their gifts, and Hamilton had never been able to bring himself to wear anything else to work, only cleaning the suit on the weekends.

  Hamilton thought about Eliza, while he stood up, taking up his flashlight into his left hand. She’d been so loving when he left that week, like she always was. She’d given him a lunch for Monday, having told him to remember to eat, and had packed him snacks for the road to and from Washington D.C. She’d then called their children, Philip, Angelica, Alexander Jr., Frances and James Alexander, down to say goodbye to him before he left. John Church was still just a babe in the cradle, sleeping, when he left. He remembered the small chorus of ‘goodbyes’ he'd received, and the big, goofy grin that had spread across his face because of his children.  _ His _ children.

  He suddenly had the horrible thought of  _ What if I never see them again? What if they’ve been taken by this horrible darkness? What if I've lost my dear Eliza, the one and only woman who’s brought joy into my life? _

  With those thoughts in mind, he opened the door again, tugging slightly on the bottom of the mask, which settled around his chest area. It was a long, full-head mask, with a very long beak, and a small bump on the top to keep the hat where it was. The glass eyeholes were very solid, though Hamilton noticed that they had a few scratches. It made Hamilton very nervous just wearing it. His flashlight once again hit the other side of the hallway, a small circle of the wall being illuminated. He held the small, light-producing tool the same way he had before, though now with shaking hands.

  As a last thought before he left the confines of his office, Hamilton went back to the second cabinet from the drawer, and crouched down to open the second-to-bottom drawer. He reached in and grabbed two packets of matches, thinking in his mind that if he came across candles, he'd have a way to light them.

  Satisfied with what he had, Hamilton went back to the door, and leaned out, the beak of the plague mask forcing his neck to use more muscles to keep his head up. He shone the flashlight down one side of the hallway, watching the particulate and dust dance through the air, along the straight beam of light. He saw that at odd intervals along the corners, where the wall met the ceiling or floor, there seemed to be odd bars of black, sticky-looking goo, only touching either surface it was attached to by the end, and never the bar’s body. It looked like a giant, deranged spider had attempted to start webs all over the hallway, only to stop after one string and move on to the next spot.

  Shivering, Hamilton turned around to look down the other way in the hallway, and almost screamed. There, just at where the edges of where the flashlight’s light could reach, way at the end of the hallway, there seemed to be what looked like a human corpse, covered in what Hamilton could only assume was blood. The body looked like it was being held up on the wall by the strange spiderweb goo bars that rested along the rest of the hallway, and there was a dark stain around the body, darker than the walls surrounding it, that could have only been bodily fluids.

  Hamilton leaned back into his office quickly, his eyes wide and his free hand covering where he assumed his mouth was under the beak with. He couldn't tell whose body it was, but he knew, for sure, he didn’t really want to know. Whether he wanted to or not, however, his mind was telling him he should see who that body belonged to, if only for closure.

  With shaking limbs, Hamilton slowly and silently crept from his office, closing the door behind him. He was left in the dark, his flashlight illuminating only a fifth of what Hamilton knew was the whole hallway. He was horrified to turn his back to any stretch of space, and he gave furtive glances behind him every few steps, swinging the flashlight behind him wildly, just in case.

  When he was still a couple of metres away from the hanging body, Hamilton was struck with the sense that everything happening around him was  _ real _ . All that was around him was really happening, he wasn’t just watching some random teenager turn on a spooky game in the arcade, where everything seemed fake and cheesy. It felt as though he was standing in a real-life version of the newest horror movie environment, and he was hit with the compelling urge to get off the set.

  Instead of running, like his mind was screaming at him to do, he crept up to the body slowly and deliberately, making as little noise as possible. He couldn’t smell anything except lavender and what Hamilton now assumed to be tea leaves, which was masking any dead flesh and particulate he would be otherwise inhaling. The entire scenario was so chillingly calm that Hamilton had to wonder if the body was placed there on purpose, and to what purpose the body hanging from the wall would serve. There was no noise, nothing to signify anything or anybody else was near, watching the body. Hamilton checked over his shoulder one last time before turning back to the dead form from which he was only a metre away.

  He took in the more broad details before the smaller ones, as his mind raced with all the different co-workers he thought this corpse could possibly be. There was a huge hole in the corpse’s abdomen, where more of the black, sticky, web-like bars protruded from the flesh, seemingly skewering straight through the body, and wrapping around it like a cage. There was blood and bodily fluids everywhere near the corpse, as though the strange bars had been shot through the wall, capturing whoever this was in a moment of horrifying ignorance.

  The corpse itself was pale, all the blood having already been drained out of it, and there were parts where the flesh was starting to come peeling off to reveal dry, decayed muscle and bone. The jaw bone seemed to have been broken away from the rest of the facial bones, lying on the corpse’s chest, unhinged, and the eyes, which Hamilton could tell were still slightly brown, were wide, staring at some horror Hamilton had yet to discover, beyond the realm of mortal beings. The nose had quite a bit of discolouration, with blood stains running down and around the bottom of the face, as though someone had punched it open after death. Hamilton was suddenly struck with the idea that he should probably have left his office more often, though whatever was floating through the air seemed to be speeding up the process of decay by twelvefold.

  As he took multiple steps closer to examine the body, now with a good idea as to who it was but wanting to make sure, he underestimated the length of the bird-like beak of his plague mask, which stabbed slightly into the mushy flesh of the dead corpse. Hamilton went to rub his throbbing nose through the leather of the mask when the body began to shake. Immediately flying backwards by one thousand millimetres, Hamilton watched as the already weak flesh where Hamilton had stabbed slowly tore open to show thousands upon thousands of wriggling maggots and larvae that stayed attached to the body.

  Hamilton let out a strangled cry as he backed up, not actually caring about noise anymore as his throat closed up. He turned tail and ran down the other side of the hallway, wanting to put as much distance between him and the deceased man as possible. It was then that Hamilton allowed himself to truly realise who that body belonged to.

  It belonged to none other than Charles Lee.

 

Hamilton ran through the White House, his plague mask making his neck sore from holding it up the whole time. The gloves were becoming sweaty on his hands, making him fidget with the fingers uncomfortably, and his swiss army knife was making a bruise from where it was banging against his hip with every stride.

  He hadn’t run very far when the effects of his adrenaline started to catch up with him, which was halfway down the Center Hall on the second floor, and soon he was in need of taking a break. The glass of his mask was starting to become fogged up from his heavy breathing anyways, so he considered it a good idea to stop.

  Diving into the West Bedroom, Hamilton swung around the door, not looking into the room, and snapped it shut, scared that if he looked down the hallway, he’d find the rotten corpse chasing after him. He had the image of that body, filled with fly children, imprinted in his mind, and he needed outside air to clear his mind. If anything, he needed the soft touch of his wife to remind him that everything would be alright and that the world was still the same, even though it obviously wasn’t.

  Just as he leaned against the door, the beak of his mask pressing against his face uncomfortably, he noticed a shuffling behind him. His body froze, and his heart seemed to skip a beat, as his breath caught in his throat. He listened for a couple of seconds, as the shuffling seemed to move around behind him, then he slowly but surely turned his head.

  Through the meager light that came lazily through the windows across the room (which was almost no light anyways), and the foggy sight his glass eyehole provided, Hamilton saw a figure, which had previously crouched by something, stand up and turn towards him. It was very humanoid, as it had a head, arms, hands, a body, legs and feet. It also had long, sharp claws instead of nails, webbed, elongated toes, and a stub for a tail, which looked like it had been cut off. It had almost the same form of beak as Hamilton wore with his mask (as part of it’s actual face), though it didn't cover as much of it’s face, only acted as its nose. It was completely pale, which made what seemed to be cuts and bruises along its body stand out more. In place of normal, human eyes, it had sunken crevices that led to pure black pupils with no irises, with what seemed to be bags underneath, as though the creature could sleep and hadn’t in awhile. There were uneven holes on the sides of its head, which Hamilton could only assume were its ears.

  But the most disturbing part of its face was the huge slit that ran under the beak-like nose. For a second, Hamilton just thought it was a cut like the rest along the creature's body, but then it opened the slit to reveal a gaping hole with no teeth diving back into the thing’s skull and down towards what seemed to be mucus and phlegm.

  The hole, which Hamilton realised was its mouth, started to emit a kind of screeching, though it wasn't very loud. It started low, almost like a hum, then hurtled quietly into the highest registers of what the human ear could pick up. Hamilton was frozen in place, watching the creature watch him, as the hole in its face continued to emit sound.

  Finally, it stopped the screeching, and blinked the tiny black holes in its assumed sunken eye sockets. It seemed to consider Hamilton for a second, though Hamilton wasn't completely sure what it was doing, since he still had his back to it and only saw it through the corners of his eyes. After a good amount of consideration, it seemed, the creature slowly made its way towards him, shuffling and limping on its malformed legs. It took every ounce of will for Hamilton to bite his tongue and not start screaming.

  It stopped and stood not a six millimetres away, it's breath a shallow, rattling sound. Lifting a clawed hand, the creature slowly tapped Hamilton’s mask beak with one of its claw-nails, making him barely cover up a whimper. The creature didn't seem to notice Hamilton’s extreme discomfort, and instead seemed satisfied with what it felt.

  It then reached down and lifted Hamilton’s hand, wanting to examine that. Hamilton made sure not to move a muscle, still standing with his hand on the door and his back to the creature. It tapped his hand, then put pressure on one spot, as though checking for a pulse. Hamilton’s heart seemed to stop, and he waited for the oncoming heart attack that was sure to follow.

  Before that happened, however, the creature let go of the man’s hand, and Hamilton suddenly felt his heart rate go from zero to a quickened, erratic pace, which was better than nothing. He relaxed slightly, relieved that the creature didn't attempt anything more. Instead of continuing its inspection of Hamilton, the creature seemed satisfied with him, and turned away from him, then shuffled back over to whatever it had been standing over before. Hamilton briefly caught a glimpse of a clump of dust, which seemed to be sticking together and not moving.

  The clump had a distinctly skin-coloured tone to it, but Hamilton shrugged it off as just a trick of the non-existent light. Right then, he needed to move out of this room and find a different place to stay, far away from this creature.

  He opened the door quickly and quietly, only looking back at the creature to see that it had turned its face towards him again, then dived back into the hall, checking to make sure the corpse he’d seen earlier wasn’t coming up the hall. He snapped the door shut again, then leaned on it.

  He took a couple of precious seconds to collect himself, and shoved down the growing panic and fear that was rising in him, then started to quickly and silently make his way down the Center Hall again, walking with a distinct air of urgency. His heart was still beating a kilometre a minute, residual adrenaline coursing through his body. He was booted into a faster gear, however, when the creature shrieked again, then opened the door slowly, sticking it’s head out to look down the hall at Hamilton.

  For a second, their eyes connected, and Hamilton’s feet stopped moving, as though in a trance. Then, the creature shrieked again, and came out of the bedroom. Hamilton started moving again, and saw that it took a second to collect itself, as though going over something in it’s mind, then started to limp towards Hamilton. The scary thing was, Hamilton completely underestimated the creature’s speed.

  He’d assumed, since he’d only saw it limping lazily around the West Bedroom, that it had take a beating from something, and that it couldn’t move faster than a tortoise. He was sorely mistaken when the creature all but flew down the Center Hall, screeching it’s anger and hunger at the top of it’s lungs.

  Hamilton’s feet started pounding on the floor hard in an attempt to outrun the nightmare behind him. He wheeled around the corner of the Grand Staircase landing, then sprinted down the stairs as fast as he could without tripping on the way. The creature took a more forward approach and, after screaming around the corner, curled itself into a boney ball and all but rolled quickly down the steps.

  Hamilton was still quite a bit in front of it, and reached the bottom of the first flight of stairs before the creature. He slipped on his way around the corner again, and scrambled to get up again as the creature rolled into view on the stairs. Hamilton just nearly avoided collision as he finally got his shaking limbs into action and yanked himself up, launching himself forward like a track and fielder.

  The creature shrieked again, slamming into the Green Room’s door, then lept up from its curled position faster than any human could. Hamilton skidded along the Cross Hall for a split second, staring at the advancing nightmare fuel, then finally gained perchais on the floor and dived into the Blue Room, slamming the door shut with a resounding snap and locking it closed.

  The creature slammed into the closed door, then screamed again, tearing at the door with it’s claws. Hamilton looked around and saw chairs that could potentially keep the creature out for at least a short period of time.

  Propping the chair up against the door, he ran to the door connecting to the Green Room and snapped it shut, locked it, then ran over to the Red Room’s connecting door. Instead of immediately locking it, too, he slid through the doorway, still hearing the nightmare clawing at the Blue Room’s door. He then turned around, locked it, and leaned against the door.

  He heard the creature finally smash down the Blue Room’s door, and smash around, as it looked for him. He knew that as long as the creature thought he was somewhere else, it would have no reason to enter the Red Room, and if he locked the doors before it got the chance to do anything, it would probably give it no mind.

  So, as quietly as he could, listening to the creature destroy the Blue Room, Hamilton snuck over to all the other doors around the Red Room and locked them, setting all the loose chairs against them.

  Only when Hamilton finally,  _ finally _ thought the creature couldn’t get in, did he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, then took in his surroundings. He suddenly realised that he wasn’t cold anymore; that the atmosphere in the Red Room was warm. He also noticed that the fireplace was raging with what he assumed were new logs, and any candle that could be lit were. There were no particulate in the air, and the walls, ceiling and floor looked dry and normal.

  Sighing with relief, Hamilton didn’t question it, going over to the fireplace. He was still shivering, and his entire being was shaking from outrunning that monstrosity in the Blue Room. As he listen to the crackling logs, he heard that the creature had stopped tearing up the adjacent room, seeming to realise that Hamilton wasn’t there. There was a jangle on the door knob that took Hamilton by surprise, making him jump and turn towards the Blue Room door, but the creature didn’t attempt anything more, and soon seemed to leave the area as far as Hamilton could hear.

  As Hamilton finally started to calm down, leaning into the fire and almost touching the flames, he heard a soft rustling behind him. Thinking that there was a second creature that had made it into his new safe zone, Hamilton lept to his feet, suddenly remembering the swiss army knife banging against his hip. He pulled it out and flicked up the knife itself, then wheeled on his heels, only to be met with a  _ click _ and the barrel of a gun to his forehead.

  Hamilton immediately dropped the swiss army knife, putting his hands in the air and backing away silently, shaking his head. His eyes went wide, and his mouth opened and closed silently, but he came soon to realise that the person holding the gun couldn’t see anything he was doing inside the mask.

  Then there came a very familiar, male voice. “Are you a threat? If so, I don’t want any trouble, just leave here and be on your way. You’re obviously are in league with that… that  _ thing _ , so I suggest you don’t get tangled up with me, if you’re trying to do anything funny.”

  Hamilton shook his head vigorously, then slipped off his gloves quickly, so he could take off the mask efficiently. After a couple seconds of struggle, in which the man holding the gun tightened his grip on the weapon and backed up a couple of steps, Hamilton finally took off the plague mask, putting it down beside him. He then saw clearly who the other person was.

  Thomas Jefferson stood with his back straight, his shoulders squared, his face in a tight frown, and both hands on the pistol he held. He looked extremely nervous and ready to shoot, and Hamilton found himself half ducking out from the gun’s line of fire.

  As Jefferson took in Hamilton’s appearance, he looked first extremely relieved, then somewhat annoyed. “Hamilton! My God, I thought everyone I knew died or ran away! But, what are you doing here? I thought you’d gone home early, you weren’t at the last meeting.”

  Hamilton shook his head again, then looked down and wringing his hands. His throat was still constricted, and he felt like he was going to pass out. Jefferson seemed to get the gyst of what Hamilton was trying to imply, then snorted, dropping the gun from Hamilton’s forehead, putting on the safety, then throwing it onto the couch. “You’re always nose deep in papers and books, aren’t you, Hamilton? Why’d you even have that horrible mask, anyways? That part of your Halloween costume, or somethin’?”

  Hamilton rolled his eyes, then let out a breath, as Jefferson turned and walked over to one of the small desks with a chair beside it. He attempted to shoot back a witty response, but, even though his breathing was starting to become normal, his voice box still wasn’t working. Jefferson noticed Hamilton’s lack of response, looked back over his shoulder, then said, “What, cat got your tongue? Or are you so above talking to one of the only remaining people in the world?”

  Hamilton once again tried to use his voice, opening his mouth wide, then put his hands to his neck. There was nothing coming out, and Hamilton felt a small, miniscule bump on his throat, where his larynx should have been. His eyes widened, and his breathing once again became erratic, as he strained against whatever was preventing him from speaking.

  Jefferson saw Hamilton’s plight, and turned back towards the other man, watching him with a concerned frown as Hamilton fell to his knees, opening and closing his mouth like a fish, hands still at his neck. Jefferson quickly walked back over to him, crouched down in front of him, and held onto his shoulders, looking him dead in the eyes as Hamilton started to panic.

  “Hey, hey, it’s okay, it’ll do neither of us any good if you start to panic,” soothed Jefferson, easing one of Hamilton’s hands away from his neck. Hamilton had half a mind to try and strangle Jefferson, as nothing he said helped. “Hey, Hamilton, look at me, you’ll be fine. You simply lost your voice, you can breathe just fine, you’re fine. Look at me, I want to see what’s the matter, ‘kay? Just relax for a second.”

  Hamilton finally let go of his neck as Jefferson leaned down and put one hand on the bottom of Hamilton’s chin. The action sent shivers down Hamilton’s spin, and he once again thought about harming Jefferson in some way for being so close to him without his permission. Jefferson then gently tipped Hamilton’s head up by lightly pushing on his chin, and examined his neck.

  After a couple seconds of what Hamilton thought it would feel to be put under a microscope, Jefferson finally leaned back, and hummed something. Hamilton dropped his chin and stared at Jefferson dead in the eye with a distinctly nettled expression. Jefferson chuckled slightly behind a hand, dropped the hand and smile at the same time, then frowned at Hamilton with almost worry in his eyes.

  “Has that…  _ monster _ thing touched you, by any chance?” he asked, not bothering to be gentle with his words. “Like, on the skin, or anything like that?”

  Hamilton gave him an odd look, then shook his head. The creature touched him through his  _ glove _ , not his actual skin. He was pretty sure that those gloves could protect from a lot more than a touch, seeing as they never gave the wearer the plague, as far as he knew.

  Jefferson’s frown deepened, then he looked down at Hamilton’s plague mask and gloves. He leaned over, picked up a glove, then examined it. After a good three seconds, Jefferson snorted, then proceeded to lean over Hamilton and put the glove gently right at the edge of the fire, with the embers.

  Hamilton attempted to cry out in indignance, though still nothing came through his larynx, and he grabbed at Jefferson’s arm. Jefferson just batted Hamilton away, and Hamilton felt a blush of anger rise on his face as Jefferson continued to ignore Hamilton’s attempts at saving his glove. The other man simply nudged the glove closer to the flames, until something within the glove suddenly caught on fire.

  Hamilton frowned. Shouldn't the whole glove have caught on fire? It couldn't be that normal for a regular plague doctor glove to only be burning in one spot, could it?

  With a yelp, Hamilton suddenly felt a burning at his throat, and he put a hand on where his missing voice box should have been. The little lump Hamilton felt had become unbelievably hot, and Hamilton started clawing at it, wanting whatever it was out of his body. He felt the lump rise in his airway, going up towards his mouth, and with it, Hamilton could feel bile coming up as well.

  Then Jefferson was over by him, taking his hand away from his neck again, and poking the lump, as he tried to get it to go up faster. Opening Hamilton’s clenched jaw, Jefferson attempted to stick a finger down his throat, only to be slapped away by Hamilton, a very vexed look on his face as the burning lump came up his throat. Jefferson rolled his eyes, grabbed both of Hamilton’s hand and held them, to Hamilton’s great annoyance.

  Hamilton made it very clear, he thought, through looks and glares, that as soon as he got his voice back, if this what what Jefferson was trying to do, then he'd be sure to right away give Jefferson a piece of his mind, just so that he never does what he was then doing ever again.

  He didn't have very long, however, to think about how annoyed he was, as Jefferson stuck his finger just far enough down bus throat to trigger his gag reflex, and further speed up whatever was burning it’s way up Hamilton’s throat. Jefferson, as he saw Hamilton’s eyes clench, immediately backed up and away, not wanting to get bile on him, as Hamilton finally got out of his system what was surely going to leave burn scars down his windpipe.

  When Hamilton recovered enough to breathe with any form of normalcy, he looked down at the object that so plagued him for a whole few minutes, only to see what looked like a black version of the creature’s long, unkept claws. It had blood around it, as it must have also destroyed some of the walls of his windpipe, and it had a bit of phlegm, as Hamilton was still residually sick from his last illness, but all in all, it looked, then, harmless.

  Hamilton sighed after seeing the terrible claw piece, then said, “You know, that could have gone a lot easier, you just had to keep quiet on what your intentions were, didn't you?”

  Hamilton looked up to see Jefferson laughing, then frowned in confusion. He then realised that he'd just spoken using his larynx, and gasped. He put a hand over his Adam’s Apple, just feeling it bob free, with no form of dug-in claw constricting it, and reviled in the fact that a creature’s claw somehow ended up there.

  “Of course that's the first thing to come out of your mouth!” wheezed Jefferson. “No thank you, no nothin’, just ‘make it easier next time, jerk! Oh man, Hamilton, you're precious, you know that?”

  Hamilton scowled, then grabbed his glove from the fire, which was still, somehow, untouched by the flames themselves. He then decided to change the topic. “How'd that get in there? I know that the creature didn't touch me, not on my skin. So what's its deal?”

  Jefferson’s uncontrolled mirth finally started to calm down, and he was left with slight hiccups shaking his body as he smiled. “See, that thing out there,” he gestured to the door connecting to the Blue Room, “really doesn't like fire, not at all, so it stays away from it. I think that's it's weakness, fire. It also has a knack of trying to shut anything it meets up, even its own kin. It'll poke you, and something will dig through your skin to your larynx. The problem, though, is that that thing that just dug to your larynx is still that monster, so it too has a weakness with fire, and wherever it touched you, that part will have a residual connection with the thing that then rests in your larynx. Make sense?”

  Hamilton stared at Jefferson, blank-faced, then said, “I think that's the smartest I've ever heard you speak, and I could understand a word because you're horrible at explaining things.”

  Jefferson sighed, then rolled his eyes. “Look, basically, that pale monster touches you, or something on you, and sends a thing to your voice box to make you shut up. That thing then kind of has a tail, and that tail is what you've got to use to get rid of the thing in your larynx. Anyways, whether you understand it or not, you've got to understand that over time, because it's like a parasite, it's gonna kill you, so you should get rid of it as soon as possible.”

  Hamilton nodded his head slowly, then said, “Sure, okay, but what happened to everyone else? And why did that creature come? Is it, like, some weird movie alien come to take over the universe one planet at a time?”

  Jefferson chuckled, then said, “You know, I'm not completely sure. I think it's a thing from another dimension, have you seen the way it looks? But I don't know, I wasn't staring at wherever it came from when it came, so sorry. And why? Well, that's a long explanation, I'll tell you later.”

  Hamilton frowned, stood up to his full not-so-tall height, and said, “No, spill. I need to know, I will not stand for staying in the darkness of ignorance. That thing has already given me a run for my money, I want to know how it works and why it’s here. If you have to break the cup, I don't care, just spill.”

  Jefferson chuckled again, then put his hands up in surrender, standing up himself. “Sure, sure, but that means you’re gonna have to be patient, and if the radio I brought here doesn't work, well, I don't really know how to answer your questions, sorry.”

  A smile crossed Hamilton’s face, small and weak, and he sat down on the couch in the room, staring at the fireplace, every now and then glancing at his plague mask. He could take this, just survival of the fittest, it seemed.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Alrighty, everyone, this is my attempt at a horror story, we'll see how things go! Thank you all for reading, and I'll try to keep it up with my other stories!


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